


Dream a Little Dream of Me

by roebling



Category: Big Bang (Band), K-pop, Music RPF
Genre: Dreams, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seunghyun has been dreaming a lot since their difficulties began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream a Little Dream of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, I've got first-story-in-a-fandom nerves! This is dedicated to my lovely, wonderful, amazing BFF [rubblerousing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rubblerousing/pseuds/rubblerousing) without whom I would never even know about Big Bang or KPop or a lot of things, to be honest. She also read this and reassured me it wasn't horrible, although if you find it to be so it's entirely my fault. 
> 
> A few more topical notes: This is, as I said, my first KPop fic, and I'm still learning about the crazy and delightful universe these boys inhabit. I tried to be accurate to the spirit of canon, if not always to the letter of it. I hesitated quite a bit before setting a certain portion of this story in New York City -- I don't want to cause offense by that decision, but I wanted also those segments to represent a total break with the world that the boys know, among other things. I hope someone enjoys this, for whatever its worth!
> 
> Oh yeah -- everyone's called by their first name except Seungri. One Seunghyun is enough for this story, and the maknae loses.

“I mean,” Seunghyun says, “did they really think we were talking about _butterflies_ in ‘High High’?”

There is no response.

“That was supposed to be a joke,” Seunghyun clarifies, after the silence becomes awkward.

“Ha.” Jiyong’s eyes are dark and flat like glass beads. “Ha. Ha.”

“Well,” Seunghyun says, crossing his arms over his chest, "what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Jiyong says. He sounds tired. It’s a good thing it’s just the two of them. If the others were here, Seunghyun knows Jiyong would pretend to have an answer for all of this. “How about, ‘It’ll be okay’?”

“It’ll be okay,” Seunghyun says obediently.

Jiyong bows his head. His fingers are knit together in a way that makes all the veins in the back of his hands stand out under his pale skin.

Seunghyun is the oldest, but there is a reason he is not the leader. Jiyong is one of his closest friends. He is much more than that, truth be told, and yet Seunghyun sits awkwardly on the other side of the room with his shoulders hunched. He has no idea at all what he could say to make Jiyong feel any better. He doesn’t feel like a good friend at all.

He feels like an asshole, and he feels sorry.

That night, Seunghyun dreams.

He has been dreaming almost every night since their difficulties began. Just the night before he’d dreamed of being at his university, attending a lecture just like he might normally, but all the students had fish heads. They had spoken in a strange gulping language that Seunghyun didn’t understand, and ignored him like he’d been invisible. He hadn’t even though to question how they’d managed to breathe on land – that was the way of dreams.

When he’d asked Manager-hyung what he thought it meant, he’d replied, “I think it means you drank too much before you went to sleep.”

Seunghyun hung his head. He’d meant to have a glass of wine only, but one glass had turned into two glasses had turned into two bottles.

He has been under a lot of stress lately, and he never drinks so much that he can’t do what he needs to do.

The dream he dreams the night after the news of Jiyong breaks is different.

He wakes up. He is lying on his back in an unfamiliar bed. His throat goes tight. It isn’t the very first time he’s woken up in a stranger’s bed, but it is the first time in a long time. He was stupider back then, and it hadn’t mattered as much, and he was very much more desperate for any kind of validation.

He decides he will leave. He’ll just gather his clothes and he’ll dress and leave without saying a word. He’ll feel guilty about it later, he knows, but it’s going to be easier for both of them if he just goes.

He sits up slowly. His anonymous bedmate makes an unhappy noise.

"What are you doing?"

Seunghyun feels like his heart is going to burst. He knows that voice.

It's Jiyong.

"Ah ..."

"It's Saturday," Jiyong says. He rolls over heavily, and rests his hand on Seunghyun's leg, above the knee. "You don't have to work. I don't have to work. Why are you awake?"

Seunghyun doesn't know if he can speak. His throat is too dry and tight. He swallows. "Uh. I have to pee."

Jiyong makes an unhappy noise when Seunghyun throws the covers back and gets out of bed.

He knows the bathroom is the second door down the hall, but he doesn't actually have any idea where he is. It should be a clue that things are not what they seem, but he can’t concentrate on that when his heart is thudding so loudly in his ears.

The bathroom is small and not very clean. The counter is covered in a litter of hair products and stubby eyeliner pencils -- Seunghyun fumbles for the light switch and ...

And the person reflected in the mirror over the sink is not him.

Well, it's him. It looks like him -- same thick eyebrows and slightly crooked smile. But it's not him -- his hair should be coppery brown and long, and instead it's black and short, bangs sticking out in a hundred directions. His face is rounder, and his skin is rough the way it used to be before he became accustomed to regular appointments at an expensive, discreet dermatology clinic. He looks older and younger at the same time. He looks different. 

He closes his eyes, and opens them, and the reflection is still wrong. Somehow, he’s not himself.

He doesn't really have to pee, but he does feel like he might hyperventilate. He turns on the faucet and sips some cold water from his cupped palms. It helps a little.

He goes back to the bedroom. Jiyong has turned onto his back and he's different too -- his hair is not dyed and it’s longer than it should be and he's got a stubbly goatee that isn't just the result of a day without shaving. He looks different, but it’s a good different.

Seunghyun climbs back into bed.

"We were supposed to sleep in today," Jiyong whines, not even opening his eyes. "I told you not to drink that last glass of wine."

"Sorry," Seunghyun says. “Just go back to sleep."

"You know I can't," Jiyong says, and that’s true. Jiyong is the hardest to wake of any of them, but once he’s up, he’s up. "Too late.” He smiles. "Besides, I have a better idea."

He sits up a little more and slides his hand up Seunghyun's side to his shoulder.

"I want to suck you off," he says.

His eyes are puffy and swollen from sleep and his lips are pink and even with the weird hair and the weird beard he’s gorgeous. Seunghyun can’t deny that. But he’s also Jiyong, and Seunghyun isn’t prepared for this. He just stares.

Jiyong scowls. "Is there any particular reason you look terrified at the thought of a blowjob?"

"Sorry," Seunghyun says. "Uh. Just tired."

Jiyong narrows his eyes. "If you're that tired it can wait."

"No, no," Seunghyun says in a rush. He doesn’t want it to wait.

He’s not stupid. This is a dream. It has to be, and since his brain's gone through all the trouble of cooking up this elaborate and realistic scenario, he might as well take advantage.

"Good," Jiyong says, and he throws back the covers. He shuffles just a bit closer to Seunghyun and kisses him. It is entirely different than Seunghyun imagined any kiss with Jiyong would ever be. He imagined it would be perfect and romantic – on a starry evening in some secluded place, with Jiyong’s hand weaving into his hair, their lips meeting like two pieces of a puzzle slotting together. Jiyong isn’t the kind of person who would accept anything less, even from a kiss.

This kiss is not anything like that. It's soft and off target. Jiyong smells sleepy, although Seunghyun cannot explain what that means. His mouth presses against the corner of Seunghyun's. He bites a little at Seunghyun's lower lip and rolls so that he's half in Seunghyun's lap. He's heavy, but it's a comfortable weight and Seunghyun's dick starts to swell. He feels warm and cozy and sleepy, and he would be happy to spend hours kissing Jiyong just like this.

But Jiyong is the most determined person that Seunghyun knows. That hasn’t changed. He works his hand under Seunghyun's shirt. Seunghyun panics for a moment, but fuck it -- there’s nobody to laugh at him. Jiyong pushes his shirt up so it's bunched under his armpits and Seunghyun can't help the way his stomach turns when he sees his body -- it's thin, but soft, with no evidence of the hard-won leanness for which he’s spent countless unpleasant hours in the gym.

But it doesn’t matter, because this is a dream. It’s not real.

They are pressed together from hip to chest and Jiyong is relentless, fingers worrying Seunghyun's hem, flexing his hips, kissing the hollow spot beneath Seunghyun's jaw.

“I don’t think this is going to work unless you get a little more naked,” Jiyong says, always impatient.

"Fine, fine," Seunghyun says, resigned and expectant at once. He lifts his arms, an awkward motion, and Jiyong pushes his shirt all the way up and off.

"Only halfway there," Jiyong says, his fingertips worming under the waistband of his sleep pants.

"Give me a second," Seunghyun says, and he lifts his hips. Jiyong grins, looking just as pleased as Seunghyun has ever seen him. He slides Seunghyun’s plaid pajama pants down and Seunghyun kicks until they fall off.

He’s totally, absolutely naked, sitting on top of the covers, and the urge to cover himself up is strong, but Jiyong is looking at him like he’s something very nice to eat.

“Spread ‘em,” Jiyong says, grinning, and he takes charge, bending Seunghyun’s legs at the knee and pushing his thighs apart. His dick sticks up awkwardly, and his stomach trembles as he tries not to breath.

Seunghyun has never in his entire life felt so exposed, but it doesn’t matter because Jiyong is running a hand up and down the pale inside of his right thigh and pressing a kiss to his hipbone and then lower. His full, pink lips part and …

That is when Seunghyun wakes up. He is hard from the dream and after that his hand is hardly going to be satisfying, but it’s enough. He closes his eyes and shoves his hand in his pants and brings himself off that way. It’s dry and it doesn’t feel that good and it’s not anything like it was in the dream, but he comes thinking about Jiyong’s mouth, his eyes, his delicate fingers.

They fly back to Korea the next day. Jiyong is in a foul black mood, which is good, because Seunghyun is too disconcerted by the dream to look him in the eye. He sits next to Manager-hyung on the plane, and watches his expression get darker and darker with each email he reads.

“How bad is it?” Seunghyun asks.

“It’s bad,” Manager-hyung replies darkly. “It’s everywhere.”

It is everywhere. Jiyong doesn’t turn on his phone after they land. Seunghyun does make that mistake; he’s got twelve missed calls and a dozen texts. He doesn’t read or reply to any of them. There are always photographers and press when they go through Incheon but this time it’s worse. The throng is oppressive. Flashbulbs go off like fireflies on a July night. There is a malicious energy in that crowd that Seunghyun has never felt before, not even when they had their misfortunes earlier this year.

There are separate vans waiting for them. Jiyong gets into his without saying a word, and it pulls away.

Seunghyun watches for just a moment, feeling slightly ill, but he can’t linger. He is not Jiyong but the media would be just as glad for a piece of him.

That night, he dreams again.

He is high up in the air, on a massive suspension bridge. The cables run off into the distance. Jiyong is walking at his side.

It takes him a moment, but then he sees a familiar building silhouetted in the distance, and he thinks, oh. They are in America. In New York City. Seunghyun doesn't understand. It's a place he's visited only a few times.

But here they are, walking over a bridge in New York City in the cool, cloudy evening.

"You’re still angry," Jiyong says.

Seunghyun frowns. “I’m not.”

Jiyong shakes his head. His mouth is set in an unhappy scowl. They walk a little further. There's a steady dull rush of noise all around them -- the heartbeat of a vast city. It reminds Seunghyun of Seoul, and it is comforting. The bridge seems long enough to span an ocean. It takes Seunghyun a moment to remember that he’s dreaming.

“I heard from Seungri.” Jiyong looks over at him. "Don't look so shocked. It’s not that hard to stay in touch with people. There's this thing called email you may have heard of ..."

"Asshole," Seunghyun says.

Jiyong grins. "He’s is doing very well. He's going to be a host on some new variety show. Sounded like a remake of _House Hunters_ or something. He’s producing too.”

"Good for him," Seunghyun says.

"You don't need to sound bitter," Jiyong says. "I thought you were over all of that."

"I'm not bitter," Seunghyun says. Is he supposed to be? How is he supposed to know? He can think of a thousand things that Seungri’s said or done that piss him off, but none of them have ever been unforgivable. Even at his worst, he’s still their maknae. "I just ..."

"I asked him if he wanted to come stay for a while," Jiyong says. "Enjoy the big city with us Americans." That last part he says in English, in an exaggerated accent.

A cyclist appears ahead of them. Seunghyun tenses for no reason and doesn’t relax until the figure speeds past. It’s a cool, damp night, just on this side of unpleasant. The cyclist is the only person they’ve seen.

“Ah,” he says.

“You’re still pissed,” Jiyong says, shaking his head. “It’s been years, hyung, and you’re still pissed Hyun Suk cut you and picked him instead.”

Seunghyun hears those words but it’s like he doesn’t hear them. He rolls them around in his mind for a moment but they seem so absurd that they’re meaningless. Yang CEO kicked him out … for Seungri?

It’s ridiculous, and it hurts more than he ever would have imagined. His entire life for six years has been either a cause or a consequence of that moment when Yang CEO said he was in the group. Everything. The idea that he could have been the one rejected is impossible – but it burns.

“I knew it,” Jiyong says, smug. “You think I can’t read your face after all this time?”

He reached out and takes Seunghyun’s gloved hand. “Hey,” he says. “I know how much it sucked. You know … you know my heart broke when we disbanded. But if you’d been in the group … if I had tried to launch a solo career ... if we’d stayed in Korea, we wouldn’t have this.”

Jiyong squeezes his fingers and still it takes too long for Seunghyun to realize that by this, Jiyong means _them_. Together.

“Oh,” he says, but by then it’s too late.

He’s woken up. He blinks in the darkness. He is in his own bed, in his own apartment, and he knows that what he’s just heard isn’t real, but it’s startling nonetheless. The idea that _he_ could ever be enough for Jiyong to give up everything – everything he’s worked for since he was six years old, the entirety of the only world he’s ever known – is absurd, but it’s addictive. Seunghyun can’t stop thinking about it, picking at it like a scab, wanting to turn the idea of their love over and over and inside out until he comes to understand how it might be real.

The next morning he drinks three cups of strong coffee, which is at least one too many. His heart is fluttering in his chest, and his fingers are trembling, but he acts like it’s nothing more than too much caffeine. When he checks his phone there are more missed calls and more texts, but none seem urgent. There’s none from Jiyong, anyway.

With nothing better to do, he goes to the dorm, to visit Daesung.

Seunghyun’s not stupid, despite that hated nickname. He’s not, and he understands people better than anyone gives him credit for. He knows that Jiyong needs to feel like he’s making the decisions. He knows that Seungri needs to feel like he’s the best at something. He knows that Youngbae needs to feel like all his hard work and self-sacrifice have been rewarded. So Seunghyun plays the joker, the kid of the group despite being the oldest. He defers to Jiyong in meetings and he asks Seungri if he can go out with him and his friends and he goofs off in dance practice so that Youngbae can scold him.

Daesung is no different. He just needs someone to take care of – more so than ever these days. So once a week Seunghyun goes to the dorm to visit him. There’s no mention of the difficulties -- not a word. Instead, Seunghyun shares his problems, and Daesung does what he likes to do best. He makes Seunghyun feel better.

Today, Daesung frowns when he opens the door.

"You don’t look well, hyung," Daesung says, putting a hand on his leg. "You look pale. You’re too thin. You're not taking care of yourself."

"I'm fine," Seunghyun protests.

Daesung shakes his head, annoyed. "I should make you some soup."

"I don't need soup," Seunghyun says. “I’m in love, Daesunggie.”

Daesung sighs. “Again, hyung?”

Seunghyun nods. He shifts, so he can lay his head in Daesung’s lap. Daesung runs fingers through his hair.

“It must be bad,” he says.

“It is,” Seunghyun says.

“Is she ... ?”

She’s not even a she, but Seunghyun can’t say that. Not even to Daesung. Not being who he is. Not with things as they are. 

“It’s impossible,” Seunghyun says. That could mean anything, but Daesung doesn’t press. If Seunghyun says it’s impossible, it is.

“Oh hyung,” Daesung says.

“I think I’ve loved her for years,” Seunghyun says, miserable.

The wheels in Daesung’s head must be turning, running through the relatively short list of women in their inner circle. Seunghyun can at least rest assured he’ll never figure out the truth of the matter.

“It’s no good,” Daesung says, sadly.

“It’s no good,” Seunghyun agrees.

“You just have to try to be happy anyway,” Daesung says with a confidence that Seunghyun knows he can’t feel. Poor Daesung. After everything, he’s still more of an optimist than Seunghyun has ever been. “Even though it hurts, you just try.”

Seunghyun nods. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad I could help, hyung,” Daesung says. “You should go home though. Rest. What’s the point of us being on break if you’re still exhausted?”

“I'm just not sleeping very well,” Seunghyun admits.

"You should go to see a doctor," Daesung. "They can give you something to make you fall asleep."

"It's not falling asleep that's the problem," Seunghyun says. "I just keep having these dreams."

He doesn't want to take any sleeping pills. He's mistrustful of doctors. Instead he takes Daesung's other advice. He goes to the YG Building and spends an hour on the treadmill. The gym is thankfully empty. He listens to the 'Late '00s North American Dance Music' mix on his iPod, and pretends that James Murphy's wail of unhappiness is his own. He thinks that maybe the dreams are a result of excess creative energy that he sure as hell isn't expending. Yang CEO has revived the notion of his long, long delayed solo album. Even though the thought of performing alone makes him sick, he decides he'll go home and try to write.

It doesn't work. He drinks a glass of wine to get the words flowing and two bottles later ends up lying on the floor in his apartment with his eyes closed. He's not sleeping. He's not even tired, despite the exercise. He's nervous. He's nervous that if he sleeps he'll dream of Jiyong. Weirdly, he's even more nervous that he won't dream of Jiyong.

He's not stupid enough to pretend he doesn't like the dreams. He likes having all Jiyong's attention focused on him. He likes being with someone he knows so well. He likes being in love. It's like a drama written to his exact specifications, with him as the star.

Maybe it's the wine, but when he does dream that night it's something stupid. He's on a variety show alone and the anonymous hosts are pressing him to play some game where he has to find a slip of paper hidden in the shoe of an audience member. Seunghyun crawls through the studio on his hands and knees, feeling entirely an idiot but knowing he's got to play along. He pulls the shoes off the swollen, sweaty feet of one ajumma after another, feeling sick to his stomach.

He never finds the hidden paper. The dream takes a turn for the absurd when the ajummas start having duck feet, and dog feet, and fins like fish. He never finds the paper.

He wakes up and the room is bright. It's morning -- he's slept the entire night on the floor.

"More fish," he says to himself. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them. "I wonder what Manager-hyung will say to that."

At a photoshoot the next day, the makeup artists shakes her head at the dark circles under his eyes.

"You look tired, TOP-sshi," she says.

He shrugs. "A little," he says.

She dabs more concealer under his eyes, covering the purple shadows. He's used to this by now -- the weirdness of foreign fingertips blending foundation into his skin, of wispy little brushes dabbing cream along his cheekbones, of mascara and eyeliner and blush. He quells the impulse to pull away from her touch.

"It must be very difficult," she says.

"Not for me," he says, and then regrets it. "I mean ..."

She smiles at him kindly and attacks him with a large powder puff before he can say any more.

The shoot goes well enough. Back in the beginning he'd hated them. He'd never known how to pose or what to do and he'd been convinced he looked absolutely idiotic. But the reaction was positive, and then more positive, and he got better at making faces at the camera that didn't end up looking so stupid on film. Now he just stands still and lets the stylists adjust his collar a centimeter, lets them rearrange the one piece of hair that's fallen out of place, and when the photographer says 'go' he sticks his hands in his pockets and makes big eyes.

Today, the photographer is happy. The representatives from the brand are happy. The stylists are happy. And Seunghyun supposes he's happy too. He's keeping his face out there, doing his part to keep Big Bang relevant during the hiatus. It's not what he wants to be doing, but it's something. He knows there are people that would kill for the success he’s had.

He dreams that night. He is sitting next to Jiyong on a crowded bus. It's summer, and the air conditioning is turned up so high that all the windows are fogged over. Someone a few seats ahead of them is listening to music so loudly they can hear it even though the man is wearing headphones. A baby cries. Seunghyun holds a cell phone in his hands. He's wearing shorts that bare too much of his pale legs for him to feel comfortable and a tee shirt with his sunglasses hooked onto the collar. He squirms. The bus is stuck in traffic, and they inch slowly forward.

"Stop it," Jiyong whispers.

"What?" Seunghyun says.

"Stop fidgeting," Jiyong says. "I told you there would be traffic."

"We should have taken a car," Seunghyun mutters.

Jiyong snorts. "Oh, and how were we going to pay for that, exactly?"

Seunghyun flushes. Right. This isn't his world. They don't have drivers and vans at their disposal at any hour of the day or night.

"Sorry.” Seunghyun frowns and crosses his arms.

"Stop sulking," Jiyong says.

"Yes Mother," Seunghyun says, annoyed.

"Look at this," Jiyong says. He flips his magazine to another page.

The headline reads 'KPOP Wave Set to Hit US Shores'. There are pictures -- some groups he recognizes, but others that don’t exist at all in his world. There's one of Daesung -- by himself, shirt unbuttoned nearly to the navel, hair spiked up.

"Funny, right?" Jiyong's smile is strange.

"Yeah," Seunghyun says. "Funny." But his stomach is twisting uncomfortably. Nothing at all about it is right -- he's seen these kinds of articles before, but he's to being mentioned in them, not sneering at them jokingly.

"If YG does a showcase or whatever Daesung better give us tickets," Jiyong says distractedly. "I want to go laugh at their stupid asses.

His tone is nostalgic though – not cruel.

"Yeah," Seunghyun says. He feels like he's holding his breath. "But don’t you wonder? Don't you wish sometimes ..."

"What?" Jiyong looks sharply. "Wish that we'd stayed? That the group lasted?" His voice is quiet but strained. Seunghyun recognizes that tone from long dance practices when nothing seems to be going quite right and Jiyong pretends that everything is fine.

Seunghyun shrugs. "I don't know. I just think sometimes about what it would have been like." He knows exactly what it would have been like. He’s living it.

Jiyong shakes his head. "I don't care," he says. "I don't think about it. It would have been awful. Long hours, no sleep, nosy fans, a label that doesn't give a shit what we want, as long as the teenage girls keep shelling out money. Sounds great." The sarcasm is thick.

Seunghyun bites his lip. It isn't like that, he thinks, even when it is. For all the nights they sleep two hours, for all the times Yang CEO has made Jiyong re-write a song to be more palatable to the consumer market, for all the times a fan or a MC on a variety show or some idiot reporter has said something terrible and insensitive, it's not really like that. Seunghyun doesn't regret it, he thinks. Not a moment of it. He's not sure he ever realized that before now, sitting in a stinking bus in a dream with Jiyong beside him.

He turns to tell Jiyong that, but it’s too late. His face is pressed into his pillow. He’s woken up.

The next day when Seunghyun goes to the cafeteria in the YG building to get a cup of coffee, he finds Youngbae sitting by himself at the far table. His relationship with Youngbae is weird -- they are closer than brothers, but if it weren't for the group they would never have been friends. 

Seunghyun accepts his coffee with a nod and sits down across the table. 

"Hey," he says. 

Youngbae nods.

"Have you talked to him yet?"

Youngbae nods again, and Seunghyun can't help but feel the tiniest unhappy twinge of jealousy. Youngbae is Jiyong's best friend -- his partner, from the time they were in elementary school. Seunghyun knows that, but he still feels a little jealous, from time to time.

Youngbae doesn't say anything else. He does not look happy.

"You're mad," Seunghyun says, and he's ashamed at how gratified he is when Youngbae flinches.

"I'm disappointed," Youngbae says.

It's funny, but disappointment is maybe the one emotion Seunghyun hasn't felt. He knows he has to hold his tongue, but the idiocy of Jiyong being strung up for smoking one joint is plain to him. He doesn't think Jiyong's done anything wrong – nothing he hasn’t done himself, anyway. 

"He didn't think anyone would find out.” Seunghyun takes a sip of his coffee. “He was drunk.” 

Youngbae frowns. "That’s not an excuse," he says. “Jiyong knows better. He’s been doing this for too long to make a stupid mistake like that.”

Jiyong does know better. Seunghyun agrees, and still he can't bring himself to feel disappointed. Not over something so inconsequential.

"Yang CEO wants to meet tomorrow," Youngbae says.

Like Jiyong, Youngbae is close to Yang CEO in a way that Seunghyun will never be. After so many years, he can’t bring himself to forgive the man who is the founder of all their fortunes for that horrible initial rejection. 

"Ah," Seunghyun says.

"If he says we should disband what are you going to say?"

Youngbae waits and watches, like he knows that deep in his heart of hearts Seunghyun's not as invested in this as the rest of them are.

"I don't think we should," Seunghyun says. "Jiyong deserves ... they both deserve a second chance."

Youngbae's mouth stretches thin. "Third chance, you mean," he says. "For Jiyong at least."

Seunghyun nods. None of them forget the pall that hangs over what should have been Jiyong's triumphant solo debut. 

"I always thought I'd be the one to screw up," he says, trying to lighten the mood. He really can’t even imagine what he would say if Yang CEO said he wanted to disband the group. The idea makes his heart shudder. "I'm the worst at all this."

Youngbae looks at him, quizzical. "The worst?"

Seunghyun shrugs. "I mean ... other than my obvious status as the group's best dancer ... " That gets him the laugh he was looking for. 

Youngbae shakes his head, grinning. "You're a fine dancer, hyung, when you practice."

"Hey," Seunghyun says. "Ah, I'm just saying. I always thought I'd screw up."

"You're the most careful out of any of us, though," Youngbae says, and Seunghyun wonders how that could possibly be true. He's not careful at all. He feels like he's always half a second away from shouting obscenities on broadcast television. He always thought that horrible, tense pressure he feels was completely transparent. He always thought everyone realized how close he felt to the edge of some horrible cliff.

Seunghyun shrugs again. "I don't love it though, like you and Seungri. I didn't sacrifice everything to be a singer, like Daesung. I'm not a musical genius like Jiyong. I'm just ..." He shakes his head. He’s not even sure what he is.

"So why did you do it then?" Youngbae has put down his spoon. "Why'd you audition? Why did you come back after you got rejected the first time?"

Seunghyun tries to remember what it felt like, to be that boy. He remembers all the nights he spent with older friends, drinking and smoking and making his poor parents worry half to death. They hung around on the periphery of the underground, eager for any secondhand credibility but not really cool enough to make any lasting impression. He remembers how his first instinct had been to scoff when Jiyong called him back up after so many years, even though the words 'idol group' had gone unspoken. 

He remembers too, how intoxicating Jiyong's promises had been -- they were going to make good music. Meaningful music. Music that made people feel _something_ with the same intensity they'd felt back in middle school listening to _Wu-Tang Forever_ on a shitty portable CD player in the weedy alleyway behind the corner store. Seunghyun remembers crouching there in the late afternoon heat, feeling as dangerous and illicit as a chubby pubescent boy could, thinking that there was some truly important truth hidden in that music, if he only listened long enough to decode the secret message.

"I never thought I’d end up doing anything different," Youngbae says, when it becomes clear that Seunghyun is not going to answer him. " This is the only thing I've ever wanted. What did you want?"

That's right. For Youngbae, who feels music in his heart and in every limb, that's right. But that's not it for Seunghyun. Looking back, what he remembers most is Jiyong's voice, and the way he's said, ‘We're going to change things, hyung. Nothing's going to be the same after us.’ 

That's what he wanted -- that closeness – the closeness he’d felt to Jiyong then, that maybe the two of them were on to something that nobody else had ever discovered before.

He can't tell Youngbae that though. To do so would be an admission of something he hasn’t even been willing to admit to himself until this week, so he just shrugs and says something about wanting to be a singer that they both know is a lie.

Youngbae shakes his head, like he sees right through Seunghyun, and as soon as Seunghyun finishes his coffee, he goes.

"So wait, wait," someone says, shouting to be heard over the din. "Tell me again. You and Jiyong were going to be in a _boy band_?"

He is dreaming again. He is dreaming, and they are in a club. Red and gold lights flash, and a throbbing dub-step beat thuds along, so resonant it sets everything trembling. He is sitting in a booth, and Jiyong is sitting next to him but so close he's practically in Seunghyun's lap.

Jiyong makes a pained face. "Well, when you say it like that," he says. 

"I just can't imagine Seunghyun dancing," someone else says.

Seunghyun doesn't know these people they are laughing and drinking with, but he can feel they are close. Maybe this is their family here in this strange dream world -- a young man with a shaved head and a septum piercing, a tall, strikingly beautiful woman with dark skin and big eyes, an older man wearing glasses that are covered in smudges. He can't put any names to the faces, but he feels close to them. 

"I was terrible," he admits. "I was the worst one. That's why I got kicked out."

"You were just lazy," Jiyong chides. "You could have been fine, if you'd practiced more." He shifts closer and curls a possessive hand around Seunghyun's neck. 

"I had more important things to do," Seunghyun says.

Jiyong narrows his eyes and smiles. "Like what?" he asks.

"Like make you fall in love with me," Seunghyun says, and even though that's not the truth of the life _he's_ lived, he knows those words are true regardless. 

Their friends laugh and clap. "Such a charmer," the man with the smudged glasses says. 

"You were good at that," Jiyong admits. 

"The best," Seunghyun says, a little boastful, but maybe his boasting is not unmerited. 

The song ends, and the lights dim. The crowd shifts impatiently until an even darker, stranger, more throbbing beat starts. 

"Come on," Seunghyun says. "Let's go dance now."

Jiyong's eyes are wide with laughter. "Are you serious?" he asks.

"Yeah," Seunghyun says, and he takes Jiyong's hand and drags him from the booth.

Their friends laugh and slide out of the way so they can leave. Jiyong grins so widely his eyes nearly disappear behind his cheeks.

"You're acting so weird tonight," he says in Seunghyun's ear as they press through the crowd.

"Sorry," Seunghyun says. 

"Don't apologize," Jiyong says. "I like it."

And then they're on the floor and while it's true that Seunghyun is never going to be a good dancer, it's also true that after so long he is an experienced dancer, and that counts for a lot. This body is different -- clumsier and stiffer than he ought to be -- but he remembers. He puts one hand on Jiyong's narrow waist and closes his eyes and just moves.

Jiyong moves with him, like he's never done before. Seunghyun can feel him -- Jiyong's thigh pressed against his, his shoulder blade under Seunghyun's hand, the way his chest rises and falls. This is it. This is his reason. He joined the group because even then he knew that he would never find anyone who he fit with the way he fits with Jiyong.

The song ends before Seunghyun is ready for it. He wants to keep dancing and not have to stop to think, because when he starts to think he remembers that this is a dream and not something he will ever, ever be able to have in real life.

"What was that?" Jiyong asks, eyes wide. 

"Huh?" Seunghyun is so close to him he can see every pore in his skin, every eyelash, every little scar where Jiyong's ever nicked himself shaving.

"If you had danced like that for YG," Jiyong says, "they wouldn't have kicked you out."

And Seunghyun laughs, because there's more truth to that statement than Jiyong (this Jiyong) will ever, ever know. "I don’t know," he says, “I just wanted to dance.”

"Okay," Jiyong says. "It's weird, but I'm not complaining."

Seunghyun smiles, and the next song starts, and Jiyong's eyes literally sparkle, like the stupid effect they use in dramas and stuff but a hundred times brighter. His cheeks are red and his fingers are digging into Seunghyun's arms too hard and he's so fucking beautiful. They start to move, and then Seunghyun wakes up.

He is summoned to meet with Yang CEO the next day. He sits in the sleek waiting room outside of Yang CEO’s office with Seungri. They have both been summoned. The atmosphere is gloomy. 

"At least you don't have to worry, hyung," Seungri says. He's sulking, wearing obnoxious sunglasses indoors and fiddling with his phones. " _You_ won the Baeksang. _You_ have directors knocking at your door. You can just go be a movie star."

"Maknae," Seunghyun says, warningly. He's used to Seungri after all this time, but still the direction this conversation is heading makes him a little nervous. 

"Just saying," Seungri says, dull. "I mean, I had the foresight to open the academy, and I can always get a gig hosting but what about Daesung? What's he going to do?"

His confidence amazes Seunghyun. Amazes him, and makes him jealous too, although he would never admit it.

"He's going to do what he's always done," Seunghyun says. “We all are.” But he's not at all sure of that. 

Seungri is not convinced. "It wasn't his fault," he says. "Poor hyung. It wasn't his fault. It was late and …” His mouth is twisted in an unhappy scowl.

"Cut it out," Seunghyun says. "Don't talk about that stuff." 

"I can't stop thinking about it," Seungri says. "We've worked so hard, hyung. We've all worked so hard, and now this?"

Seunghyun shakes his head. He's nervous too, but he's the oldest and he's tried to hide it. He doesn't think he's very good at it, but he still tries to be an older brother to his members. 

"Everything will be fine," he says. "And if it doesn't work out ..." He closes his eyes and thinks about the dreams -- about Jiyong's hand in his, and about another life he could have lived. "If it doesn't work out, everything will still be fine, because we'll still have each other. That’s what matters.”

Seungri narrows his eyes and the corners of his mouth turn down. "Aish," he says. "You sound like my mother."

Seunghyun's too far away to slap him. 

"Seunghyun-sshi," the secretary says. "He's ready for you."

They both look up. 

"Big Seunghyun," she amends, looking nervous. She's new, and she's not used to them yet.

"Good luck," Seungri says. 

"Thanks," Seunghyun says, as the doors open. 

The dream that night is a strange one. He is sitting in a small room at a desk. There are books and papers piled everywhere, and he knows he needs to find something buried in one of the messy stacks, but he doesn't know what. Worse -- nearly everything is in English. Seunghyun's English isn't bad, but it's not great, and staring at all those Roman letters and numbers is a sensation akin to drowning.

He doesn't even realize it's the same as the other dreams until he spies a picture of Jiyong and himself, pinned to the corkboard over the desk. Their arms are around each other, but it is not a brotherly embrace.

He's made a mess of the office in his hurry to find whatever he's looking for. He's knocked papers to the ground, and already unstable stacks of books have tumbled over, pages bending, spines creasing. He's breathing hard and upset, fist wrapped tight around a sheath of papers, and he doesn't even know why. 

"Doesn't matter," he says to himself. "It's just a dream. Calm down.”

The cellphone sitting on the desk rings, and he jumps a foot.

"Shit," he says, pressing his hand to his chest.

He answers the call, because it's his dream and if he doesn't nobody will. 

"Hello?"

"When are you coming home?"

It's Jiyong, and he's speaking English, and Seunghyun understands it but he doesn't know why. He doesn’t understand why he can understand spoken English, but all those English words on all those sheets of paper are as indecipherable as hieroglyphics, pre-Rosetta stone.

"Soon," Seunghyun says.

"Good," Jiyong says, and even speaking another language, even in a dream, Seunghyun can tell he sounds upset.

"What's wrong?"

"Bad day at work," Jiyong says.

Seunghyun doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what Jiyong does, and he is suddenly angry. What's the point of putting him here and not even letting him know enough to console Jiyong? It's not fair.

"I'm sorry," he says. 

"Just the normal bullshit," Jiyong says. "I should be used to it."

"Jiyong ..." Seunghyun literally doesn't know what to say. He's got this huge blind spot, and he hates it.

"Just come home," Jiyong says. "Buy a bottle of wine, and come home, and let me pick out a stupid movie for us to watch." 

"That will make you feel better?" So little, Seunghyun thinks. How could that be enough?

"Of course it will," Jiyong says, in a tone that implies Seunghyun's an idiot for even asking. "Now come home."

"Okay," Seunghyun says. 

He wakes up.

It is night, and he is in his bed. The alarm clock blinks red. It’s just a little after midnight. It’s rare for him to even be in bed this early, let alone have already slept and woken. Maybe because of that or maybe in spite of it, he is wide awake, tense in a way that reminds him of the nervous energy they all feel before they go on stage.

This last dream is strange. It’s more disjointed than the others. He can’t make sense of it. All Jiyong wanted was … him? 

He doesn’t know how that could be, except that he knows in his heart all he’s ever wanted is Jiyong. 

Maybe, at the end of it all, the answer is as simple as that. Maybe that’s all Jiyong had wanted to hear. 

He reaches for his cell phone. Jiyong is first on speed dial, even though they don’t talk that often. That cannot be a coincidence. 

The phone rings, and oh god, what is he going to do if Jiyong doesn’t answer? If, after everything – after the dreams – Jiyong has something better to do than answer phone calls from his stupid irresponsible hyung in the small hours of the morning. 

But he hasn’t. He picks up. 

“Hello?” 

“Where are you?” 

“Huh?” Jiyong sounds exhausted, and Seunghyun feels like an idiot. Since the news broke he’s given Jiyong space, given him time, left him alone to figure out what he needs to figure out. He only realizes now that that’s the exact opposite of what he should have done. 

“I can’t sleep,” Seunghyun says. “Where are you?” 

“I’m at the studio,” Jiyong says, and that makes so much sense that Seunghyun should have guessed it. 

For Jiyong, music is at the beginning and the end of everything. Seunghyun is just starting to understand that it’s _Jiyong_ who’s at the beginning and end of everything for him. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” Seunghyun says. 

“I wasn’t, hyung” Jiyong says, bemused. 

“Good,” Seunghyun says. “I’m coming.” 

In the back of the taxi he frets, even though it is late enough for the traffic to have abated. They are moving quickly, and still he thinks it’s not fast enough. He’s six years late to this revelation as it is. When they stop in front of the YG building he throws a slightly obscene amount of money at the driver and nearly runs to the door. There are no fans around – nobody at all except a night guard who nods to him pleasantly. 

In the elevator ride up he listens to the music they’ve made together and wonders how he could ever have _not_ realized. 

Everything is quiet and still. The door to the studio is ajar. Seunghyun pauses and then pushes the door further open. Jiyong is sitting there at the soundboard, head bowed and earphones on. Seunghyun doesn’t move forward or retreat. He just watches as Jiyong rewinds the track he’s working on fifteen seconds, listens, and then rewinds again.

“Hey,” Seunghyun says. 

Jiyong looks up, startled. 

“What are you doing here?” Jiyong frowns. “I didn’t think you were really going to come.” 

“Hey,” Seunghyun says, feigning offence. “Of course I was going to. I’m a man of my word.” 

Jiyong smiles. Seunghyun is a known and self-professed liar. 

He sits in the other chair. 

“What are you working on?” 

Jiyong shrugs. He’s got a dozen songs or fragments of songs in the works at all times. He unplugs his headphone, presses play, and lets Seunghyun listen. 

“It’s good,” Seunghyun says. “But the bridge …” 

He’s not a prodigy like Jiyong, but he’s not bad at all of this, either. 

“Yeah,” Jiyong agrees. “I’ve re-written it five times.” 

“You need to take a break. Do something else.” 

Jiyong scrubs his face with his hands. “I can’t,” he says. “I can’t even go to the store down the road for cigarettes. There were fucking reporters outside all day.” 

“They’ll find someone else to bother in a week,” Seunghyun says. 

“Yeah,” Jiyong says, but he doesn’t sound so sure. 

They sit in silence. The lights on the soundboard blink and blink. The building is so quiet and new. Seunghyun feels something start to creep between them, and it makes him sick. He’s dreamed. He came here, and he’s going to act like he hasn’t learned anything at all. 

“I talked to Yang CEO today,” he says. 

Jiyong nods. “I know. He told me he’d be speaking to all of you.” 

“Did he ask you …?” 

“He didn’t ask me anything,” Jiyong says. “He reprimanded me for being an idiot. Which I am.” 

“You’re not,” Seunghyun says. “Honestly, Jiyong, it could have been any one of us. Me. Teddy. Kush. It’s not like you were the only one who …” 

“Don’t even say it.” Jiyong sounds as upset as Seunghyun’s ever heard him. “It could have been you, but it wasn’t. It was me.” 

This isn’t going at all like Seunghyun wanted it to. 

“He asked me if I thought we should wait a year or two to come back,” Seunghyun says. 

Jiyong inhales sharply, and turns his head away. 

“You could concentrate on your acting career,” he says in a deceptively light voice. 

“Ah, Jiyong.” Seunghyun shakes his head. “You sound like the maknae now.” 

Jiyong laughs, but it is not a happy sound. “It’s not a bad idea,” he says. “The public … our fans … maybe they will forgive us by then.” 

“It’s a terrible idea,” Seunghyun says. “It’s a terrible idea, and you know it. If we wait two years, we might as well just disband now.” 

Two years and he'll be twenty-six. Not old, but practically a dinosaur by Hallyu standards, especially with two years of military services still hanging over his head. Sure, he can spend the interim acting, doing CFs, whatever. He doesn’t want to, but he can fill that time up if he needs to. If they wait two years, though, they'll be old news. Has-beens. Washed up.

They’ll be over.

“Maybe,” Jiyong beings, but Seunghyun doesn’t even give him a second to finish that thought.

“No,” he says. 

Jiyong looks up, confused. “No?” 

“No,” Seunghyun confirms. “We can’t wait two years. We can’t disband. We can’t.”

Seunghyun closes his eyes. He thinks of everything they've done. How hard they've worked. How, of all the people in the world -- all the people Jiyong could have wanted for his group -- Seunghyun was the one he'd called. Seunghyun could have laughed at Jiyong or refused all together or given up when he was first turned away, but he hadn't. There were a million opportunities for fate to intervene and ruin everything, but it hasn’t. They have succeeded together, all of them. Seunghyun can’t give that up. He won’t. 

“Why?” Jiyong sounds honestly confused. 

“Because,” Seunghyun says. “You are my family. All of you. If we wait two years, everyone is going to move on and we’re not going to be family any more, and I never want that, Jiyong.” 

“Hyung,” Jiyong begins, but maybe for the first time that Seunghyun’s ever known him Jiyong is at a loss for words. 

“You told me the truth, you know,” Seunghyun says. “You told me, back when you first called me to audition, that we were going to make something special. And we have. And I don’t want to give that up, Jiyong. I don’t want to give you up.” 

He can hardly dare believe he’s spoken those words. Jiyong watches him for a moment, and then reaches out and takes his hand. 

It’s not the same as it was in the dreams. They aren’t living in that world, but maybe the meaning is the same even if the gesture is different. 

“You’re sure?” 

“I’m sure,” Seunghyun says. 

Jiyong squeezes his hand and smiles a small, giddy smile. “It took you long enough,” he says. 

“I know,” Seunghyun says. “I’m not as advanced as you, but I’m learning. I have forever to learn.” 

Jiyong shakes his head. “We are going to disband one day, you know. Nobody’s going to want to see a bunch of old ajhussis on stage dancing to decades-old hits.” 

Seunghyun shakes his head. “Even then,” he says. “Even when the group is over, you’re still going to be stuck with me.”

Jiyong rolls his eyes. “What did I do to deserve such a fate?” 

Seunghyun thumps him in the shoulder. “You’re the one who called me, remember? I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.” 

Jiyong smiles again, less giddy this time but warmer. “I know,” he says. “I remember.” 

Seunghyun sleeps well that night, and if he dreams, he does not remember it.


End file.
